


Try My Machines

by sweetestsight



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: (only discussed though nothing overt), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Sex Toys, This is just shameless smut that's literally it, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 20:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight/pseuds/sweetestsight
Summary: John has a box under his bed.





	Try My Machines

**Author's Note:**

> Not meant to represent real people, but fictional versions inspired by them! If you're a minor don't read! Thanks!

John has a box under his bed.

None of his bandmates are allowed to look at this box. None of them are allowed to go near it. Hell, he’s pretty sure they don’t even know it exists and that’s really for the better, because John has a box under his bed, and that box is chock-full to the brim with sex toys.

Sometimes you just end up acquiring a lot of things like that.

Some were gag gifts, but then others got him a little curious, and then he had to experiment with the different models to the point the store started giving him rewards points, and the bottom line is he owns probably an excessive amount of sex toys for one person but he _likes_ them, okay? They make him feel good and they’re wonderful instant stress relief, something he sorely needs pretty much all the time.

Like right now.

The flat is empty for the first time in days, save for himself. He didn’t think he’d have time to do this today but his professor cancelled class at the last second and now here he is, clad only in his oversized pajama shirt and some socks (it gets cold in the flat, sue him), knees spread as he lubes up the bright orange, generously-sized dildo currently suction-cupped to the hardwood floor between his and Roger’s beds.

It’s not the most glamorous setup, but it does the job.

He runs his fist over it one last time before getting up on his knees and shuffling until he’s sat over the thing. It doesn’t take any extra ceremony—he’s been painstakingly stretching himself open for the last hour, anyway—as he lines himself up, dropping down slowly just until he feels the familiar burn.

He hovers there for a minute, thighs quaking and breath caught in his throat as just the head of it rests inside him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drops down and feels it drag inside him deliciously. He barely gets out a cut-off moan before he’s rising up again and then dropping down all the way, ass grazing the hardwood floor as the toy fills him completely.

And it _fills _him, hits every single one of his good spots. This has been one of his favorite ones for a while now. Something about the shape of it is just perfect every damn time, perfect to the point that he feels dizzy even just a few seconds in, already struggling for breath.

He starts slow, rocking on the thing rather than really make a point of fucking himself on it. He just sways his hips gently and feels it move torturously slowly inside of him, lets himself gasp and moan from the feeling as he squeezes a hand around the base of his cock to stave off getting too excited too early. It’s hard not to, but he wants to drag this out and really make it last, wants one of those orgasms that lingers in the fog of his mind for the rest of the day.

When he thinks he’s about to go mental with it he picks himself up and then drops down again, a moan punching out of him as it hits his prostate dead-on.

It’s hard to take it slow after that. He fucks himself on it eagerly, letting his hips roll and twitch so that the thing lands just right every time as his hands wander to play with his nipples and tug his own hair. He can’t keep the sounds contained anymore, not like this. He lets them cascade out at will, moaning and whimpering into the empty room. He’s so _close_ so rapidly, close enough that he feels like his brain is melting with it, his senses fading away to be replaced by sheer pleasure and need. He planned on dragging this out but he might not be able to at this point.

Images flood through his mind and he picks something at random: hands trailing across his chest, long-fingered and rough and slender—no, no, smaller than his own and callused, the rough patches of skin catching on his nipples in the best possible way. They trail down to hold his wrists before pulling them behind his back, forcing him off-balance as he continues to try to fuck himself.

_There you go,_ an imaginary voice breathes into his ear. He can almost feel the wet heat of it.

He moans loudly, shamelessly, bouncing frantically now. “Fucking—_christ, _I’m—”

He finds the perfect angle, the perfect pace, and his head spins.

“Roger,” he pants, then trails off into a moan so loud he’s sure the neighbors are hearing it.

That’s why he doesn’t hear when the door opens.

“Oh _fuck,_” a hushed voice says.

He _does_ hear that. His eyes snap open, a bolt of shock ripping through him.

Roger is standing in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth gaping, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the place where the toy is disappearing into John’s body.

John freezes, cock twitching pathetically as he does. He’s still so close, but fuck if he can bring himself to move with Roger still staring him down. “Rog, I—you’re supposed to be in class!”

“I…” Roger starts, trailing off. He looks suddenly hesitant. “Don’t stop,” he says, words pitching up at the end like a question.

“What?”

“You don’t need to stop if you don’t want to.”

John stares at him, shocked so silly that even his own immodesty fades from his mind.

Roger steps hesitantly further into the room. “Is this okay?”

It’s more than okay. It’s shocking and new and probably a horrible idea for the sake of the band, but it’s okay. He nods once, and Roger closes the door behind himself.

“Keep going,” Roger says again. “Please?”

John licks his lips, head ducked down. He only hesitates a moment before rolling his hips in a small circle, gasping as the old fire is immediately reignited.

“That’s it,” Roger breathes.

He starts moving for real again before he risks looking up at Roger again. Roger’s eyes are glued to his face, gaze dark and heavy, lips still parted.

“You like being watched, don’t you?” Roger asks quietly.

He gasps and nods, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Do you get off on it a little?”

“I—yeah, yeah. I like it.”

“You’re dirty.” His breath hitches as John moans but otherwise says nothing. “God, you’re something. Can I touch you?”

John nods frantically. “I’m really close, Rog.”

“Not like that. I don’t want you to get off yet. Do you think you can hold off? For me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m…_shit.”_

“Come on,” Roger says, voice rough. His hands thread through John’s hair, not pushing or tugging, just moving with him as he bounces up and down. “You can do it, love.”

John gasps and slows incrementally. It almost hurts to stop, but it’s better than losing control too soon. He changes pace and makes his thrusts long and slow and deep instead, and that’s just enough that he can nod as the fire burns a little bit cooler.

“Good boy,” Roger murmurs, half to himself. “God, I want to watch you just take it all day long. You look so good like this, you have no idea. All flushed like that. I always used to wonder how far down that blush goes, you know?”

John groans and presses his forehead against Roger’s hip.

“You were so sweet back then. Look at you now.”

“Nothing’s changed,” John grits out. “You’re just seeing it differently.”

“Oh, I’m seeing it, alright.” He tugs at the hair behind John’s ears until John groans and makes an aborted move to reach for his cock. “Nuh-uh. No touching.” John glares up at him—tries, anyway. He isn’t quite sure his face can look anything other than desperate right now. Nonetheless he moves his hands away again and is rewarded with a scratch to his scalp. “Good boy, that’s it. Can you come just from that? Just from having something inside you like that?”

“Sometimes,” John pants. “I—_fuck,_ only sometimes.”

“God, I want to watch you just get off like that over and over again. You think you could do that for me someday?”

It’s far too early in whatever this is for them to even consider planning a second time to this, and John has no idea why he nods despite that.

“I’d like that. I bet you’d love it, wouldn’t you?”

“I—yeah.” It’s all he can think about now: Roger slowly teasing him to orgasm for hours on end. He whimpers at the thought and Roger tugs sharply at his hair.

“Do you like it when someone watches?”

“I don’t know.”

“You like it when I’m watching you?”

His stomach twists with a curl of arousal as he meets Roger’s eyes. “Fuck. Yeah, I like it.”

“I could get the others in here if you want.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, gasping. His blood feels like it’s simmering, pleasure fizzing up his spine.

“Don’t come yet.”

He can’t do anything but whine at that.

“Don’t. You’re really that close?”

_“Yes.”_ It’s starting to hurt. He feels like he could come at any moment. Just a single breath of stimulation and he’d be there. As it is all he can do is bounce and moan helplessly.

“What’s in the box?”

“Roger, don’t—”

It’s too late. Roger detangles one hand from his hair so he can lean over and pull the thing closer before flicking the lid back.

He’s silent for a long moment as he peers inside. It’s enough to make John panic, and he slows his movements gradually to a standstill. That snaps Roger out of it; he tugs John’s hair sharply. “Nuh-uh. Keep going.”

“You’re not—”

“Go ahead.” He watches, eyes sharp, until John resumes his original pace. “You use all of that on yourself?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Some of it.”

“Some of it?” Roger repeats, raising one eyebrow.

John tries to huff at that, but it just comes out as a whoosh of air as he drops down again. “_Fuck. _Roger, I’m going to—”

“Okay, alright. Stop.”

“No, I wanna—”

“I said _stop_, John.”

He lets a quiet moan escape his lips, but he halts. Roger holds out his hand and helps him stand up, sitting him down carefully on the side of the bed. His cheekbones are flushed pink, lips pink like he’s been biting them. He looks about as undone as John feels.

It’s all tumbling from there.

Roger rolls him easily, pushing him down into the sheets. It’s new; this is all new but that in particular stands out. He’s never been pushed around like that before and it leaves him dizzy.

“Roger,” he gasps, a little lost.

Roger’s eyes flick up to his, sharp and knowing before they seem to take in the look on John’s face. His expression softens slightly, mouth tugging down at the corners, and then he climbs back up the bed slowly to cup John’s face in one callused palm. “Alright?”

Now that he’s here it’s okay, for some reason. It’s alright. John nods.

“This isn’t too much?”

“No,” he rasps. “It’s not too much, it’s just—I need…”

“What do you need, honey?”

That’s _good;_ that soothes over some sore part of himself he didn’t even know he had. He allows his eyelashes to flutter shut. “I just need some…I don’t know, I need—”

“You like this? You like it like this? A little closer?”

John nods, a miniscule movement.

“Okay,” Roger murmurs, voice soft. “Alright. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you now, alright?”

He lets out a sigh and it feels like honey leaving his lungs. He nods and opens his eyes.

Roger is watching him with a tiny, dizzy sort of smile.

His hand trails back down John’s thigh, his skin rough in a way that makes John shiver. Finally he reaches the delicate skin behind John’s knee and lifts it until his ankle is hooked behind Roger’s back, the denim rough against his calf. Roger is still completely clothed, and that fact hits him even harder. Filthy; he feels absolutely filthy.

Then Roger sends him another one of those purely happy smiles and it doesn’t matter.

“Okay?” Roger asks quietly. “This alright?”

“Yeah,” John breathes. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“You ready?”

“Roger, I was riding the thing not five minutes ago,” he says, almost managing to sound snappy. “I think I can handle it.”

“Alright, alright,” Roger murmurs, laughing.

He pushes it in smoothly, barely even pausing before rocking it back out again. John sighs and allows his head to fall backward into the pillow, line of his throat stretching deliciously.

“Does this vibrate?” Roger mutters, half to himself.

“Yeah,” John breathes. “Yeah, there’s a switch on the bottom.”

“I don’t see—_oh, _is it this?”

It’s that.

John arches up against him, their chests pressed together, writhing away and closer at the same time. A sound builds up in his chest until it escapes him, and he doesn’t even bother trying to bite it back. He doesn’t think he can—not with how good it feels, not with the way Roger’s watching him intently, not with how he feels safe and secure under the weight of Roger’s body.

Roger gets a grip on his hip and hoists him upward a little until he’s practically in Roger’s lap, and if John lets his focus slip he can almost fool himself into believing it’s Roger spreading him open, Roger inside of him. He twists his fingers in the back of Roger’s shirt and moans.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous,” Roger mutters. His eyes darken even further when John whimpers at the sound of his voice, rough and low. “Look at you. Jesus.”

“Rog,” John gasps, wide-eyed. He gives Roger a frantic look, hoping Roger gets it.

“Is that good?”

“Roger, please.”

Roger gives him a small smile, crooked and loose. “Only sometimes, huh? Could you come for me just like this? Make a mess all over yourself while I keep it up just like this?”

He can’t even gather words for that, just moans low in his throat and drags Roger closer by his shirt until he can hide his face in the crook of Roger’s neck.

Roger lets him do it for only a moment before he pulls away a bit, removing his hand from John’s hip to drag his fingernails against the side of John’s scalp when he whines in complaint. “Hush, baby. None of that. I want to be able to see you. You look so fucked out already, did you know? You’re beautiful like this, you look like such a mess.”

He aims the vibrator upward and John just barely bites back a scream. It comes out as a cut-off moan instead, loud and thin above the unending buzzing, and he can’t help but tighten the grip his legs have around Roger’s waist. Roger breathes out a laugh and does it again, and John’s head spins.

“Rog,” he gets out, and then a stream of words fall from his lips that he can’t quite track but that seem to translate to something like _yes yes yes _and _more please_ and _oh god_ all kind of smashed together.

He’s losing his mind, he’s pretty sure. He can’t stop writing and grasping for support, his hand fisted in Roger’s collar one second, tearing against the sheets the next, clenched in the pillow beneath his head the third. Roger takes his wrist when he goes to throw it over his eyes, takes it and moves it out of the way, and then blue eyes are on his, wide and inquisitive and questioning.

John nods wordlessly.

“Yeah?” Roger whispers, the air hitting John’s own lips. “Come on then, baby.”

He crooks the vibrator upward and his fingers tighten in John’s hair, and that’s all she wrote.

Dimly, John is aware of Roger talking him through it. He barely registers it, barely registers any sound in the room other than his own cries and the insistent, rising ringing starting in the back of his brain as his back arches and pleasure shoots up his spine. He squeezes his eyes shut, sparks going off behind his eyelids as the feeling goes from lightning to simply mind-numbing, a delicious wave that has his toes curling where his feet are still locked around Roger’s back.

And then the world comes gradually back into focus, and his calves twitch as the feeling becomes too much. He lets out a whimper and Roger shushes him, slowly pulling out the vibrator and leaning back to switch it off.

“Rog,” John hums, eyes still closed. He makes grabby hands in the direction he thinks Roger might be, too out of it to feel self-conscious about his own neediness.

Roger laughs quietly. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

He feels a cloth swipe over his own stomach, probably his own t-shirt, and then the blankets are pulled over him before he’s bundled carefully against Roger’s chest, laying on his side in a warm cocoon. And it’s nice—he’s not the type to need to be taken care of like this, but it’s nice knowing there’s someone there who’s looking after him. It’s nice to have someone there to lead him through this and then take care of him after the fact.

Roger doesn’t seem to mind, if the way he pulls John’s body flush against his own is any indication. He cradles John’s head with one arm and uses his other hand to run soothing strokes up his spine, from the small of his back to the knob at the base of his neck and back down again.

It takes a few long moments for the ringing in his ears to stop, and when he finally comes back to himself he’s so calm he can’t even bring himself to care about the nature of their positions. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly, his voice rough.

Roger ducks into his hair. He doesn’t kiss him—John would notice that—just lets out a little sigh through his nose, warm against the top of John’s head. “Taking care of you,” he says simply. “Do you mind?”

“No,” John murmurs.

Roger sighs again and resumes stroking his back. “It’s the least I could do, after that. It looked intense. Sorry if I was too pushy or anything.”

“No, don’t be,” John says. He plays with the front of Roger’s shirt. “I haven’t come that hard in—I don’t know how long. I should be thanking you, if anything.”

Roger is silent for a long beat, long enough that John wonders if he’s dozed off or something. John is about to let his eyes slip shut once more when Roger speaks again. “Would you want to do it again sometime?” he murmurs.

John pulls away to look up at him. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Roger says, shrugging. He glances away as if he’s trying to play it off. “You know. You have loads more toys in that box, and I’d—I wouldn’t mind seeing you come apart again like that. Just if you were into it, or whatever.”

He is very much into it.

This is different, though. This is planning for something they’d only done spontaneously. Best mates or not, it’s crossing a rather glaring line.

“Would you want that?” John asks slowly.

Roger blinks. He nods.

“I think…” John starts, then curls closer. “I think I’d like that, too.”

Roger huffs out a laugh and begins playing with his hair. “Glad to hear it.”

John smiles against his neck. He can’t help thinking that their friendship is going to be quite a bit different from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by "I don't want to write my senior paper and you can't make me!" with sponsorship by "Why write your senior paper when you can write gay porn!" I might make this into a series, lmk what you think tho or if you want to see it go in any certain direction!! ;)


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